


The Painting

by disgruntledchowchow



Series: One-Shots (at least for the time being) [3]
Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:08:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledchowchow/pseuds/disgruntledchowchow
Summary: Daphne discovers Simon took back the painting.
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Series: One-Shots (at least for the time being) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135856
Comments: 13
Kudos: 92





	The Painting

“Ms Coulson—where did you say the artwork His Grace did when he was a child was?”

“That would be in the west wing ma’am —the second floor, most probably at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you—I would love to go find a few paintings in there, maybe frame them and put them in the nursery”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea Your Grace.”

.

.

.

Daphne had attempted to remember everything from her tour with Ms Coulson, but they had mostly glossed over the West Wing. It was where Simon’s father had spent most of this time, and since they had not gotten around to redecorating yet, it was rather dark and Simon preferred to stay away.

As she climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway, she could feel the difference in atmosphere. It felt oppressive and dark like the temperature had dropped a couple of degrees but it felt like the weight of the world had fallen onto her shoulders. She could not imagine walking these hallways, feeling that pressure all of the time, feeling the inadequacy and expectations. It truly was a testament to Simon’s strength that he had built himself into the amazing, thoughtful, strong, absolutely amazing man that she was proud to call her husband.

She wandered through the halls, poking her head through the doors, not really absorbing their contents until she saw a flash of pink. It made her do a double-take —mainly as pink really didn’t seem to fit the rest of the feel of the area. She walked inside, only to see that the room was coloured a light blue, and there was a light blue L-shaped chaise under the window, and across from it was the painting. It seemed like a complete antithesis to the dark panelling and colours of the hallway and other room, of the gloom of the wing.

Almost as if she was entranced, she walked slowly to the chaise before settling on it, not really breaking eye contact with the painting. There was something about it, she wasn’t sure what, but it called to her.

The colours were rich but not vibrant, not overwhelming in any way, more of like a calming presence. She watched as they melted into each other, never clashing, they met peacefully, like the waves that kiss the shore. They reminded her of renewal, of mornings and evenings, of comfort and safety, of exploration, of happiness.

The image itself was none too original. It was a scene from the countryside, but it was so much more. It was serenity. It was calm. It was at peace. It was an acceptance of all. It almost felt like she was intruding on a private moment—but rather than feeling uneasy it brought her into the warmth.

She remembered the bare touch of her and Simon’s fingers the first time she saw the picture. Their private moment—the first time she felt seen and heard, as her own being. It was acceptance. It was Simon accepting her. And even though she hadn’t known it yet, certainly had not acted like it, that was her heart accepting Simon, that was when she realized she would love no other as she loved him.

Regardless of the messes that had transpired, the emotionally fraught moments, that moment…That moment in front of the picture was their moment. Their serenity. Their acceptance.

The painting was the epitome of magic in the mundane. It seems rather basic but the mornings where the sunlight streamed through the windows and she awoke in Simon’s embrace, the nights of shared glances across the ballroom, that he remembered she didn’t like mushrooms and took all them from her plate, that was everything.

As she sat and watched the painting, watched it reach out and speak to her, watched it bring back some of her fondest memories, watched it as it brought the love of her life to her, watched as it showed her love, showed her acceptance.

Her hands dropped to stroke over her still-flat belly. “I accept you now and always. Forever. I love you. No matter what happens, I always want you to know that your father and I love you more than anything else in the world, and we are always here for you.”

Sitting here, in what was clearly one of the late Duchess’s rooms was, cradling her unborn child, all she could think about was the Duchess. Sitting right where she was now. Probably talking to Simon, the same way she was speaking to her child. She imagined she dreamed of meeting Simon, of him taking his first steps, his first words, she would have imagined holding him in her arms, maybe she thought about showing him this painting.

She had not allowed herself to dwell on the dangers of childbirth, and truly she wasn’t scared, but she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of hope that she would be there with Simon to raise their child. That they would be there for their first steps, first words, to share the late duchess’s love for this painting, to make pancakes together as a family.

Clyvedon had felt acceptance, happiness, love in the air after so many years, it would be a crime to take it away so quickly.

.

.

.

“Sweetheart? Here you are, I’ve been looking for you all over.”

Daphne stood up, smoothing down her dress. “Oh yes sorry, I guess I got caught up staring at the painting.”

“Oh yes, I hadn’t realized this is where it was. I don’t think I have ever been in this room. Though judging by the decor it was my mother’s, and this is where she kept the painting hence it’s where the staff put it.”

“You took it back from the exhibition.”

“I did. You liked it. It felt private. Ours. I didn’t want anyone else to see it.”

Daphne smiled and walked over and wrapped Simon in a hug.

“I love you, Simon.” And with that, she stepped back and her hands immediately went back to smoothing down her dress. She turned, to face the painting once again, and she felt Simon come up behind her once again and slip his arms around her.

“What’s on your mind sweetheart?”

Daphne sighed.

“I got so lucky with you. I know I can be crazy and rather awful sometimes but you’re always there. You love me and you stay.”

“Sweetheart it’s not like living with me is a picnic either but at the end of the day we love each other and that’s what people in love do. They stay. They talk. They love each other. You taught me that.”

“I want us to see our child take its first steps. I want us to watch them smile and laugh and walk. I want them to know that they’re loved and accepted for every moment of their lives.”

“They know it. Don’t ever worry about that. They know it already. And we will never let them forget it. And you’ll be here to see it all. We both will.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Sweetheart I have to believe that with everything in me. If I don’t…I don’t know what I’ll do.”

With that, wrapped in each other, they turned to gaze at the painting. There were so many things Daphne wanted to say in that moment. She wanted to tell him that she thought this is where the late Duchess would come to spend time alone with Simon before he was born. She wanted to cry and beg him to be happy again, to continue living if she happened to pass away during childbirth. She wanted to reassure him that she was strong and they were strong and everything would be fine.

Instead, she stayed silent, gazing at the painting, feeling Simon’s warm breath on her neck and his strong heartbeat at her back. There would be time to talk, to talk about their fears and hopes and dreams and future together. Now was the time for serenity. For peace. For love. For each other.

.

.

.

11 months later, as she stood in the nursery, gently rocking her daughter, she felt Simon come up behind her and draw her into his arms. She gently rocked the baby, content to stay with the two people she loved the most in the world, and as she laid her down in the crib, she stepped back into Simon's arms. They stood there, watching their baby. Their precious daughter. Their everything. Their eyes travelled up to see the painting, yes that painting.

They had decided to place it in the nursery, it felt like the Duchess was watching over their baby, a protective and sweet and warm presence. It was a special painting. Their little bubble. And wrapped in her husband, as they watched their daughter sleep, Daphne truly did feel at peace. She felt loved, she felt accepted, and she felt content. This was everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!  
> Thank you so SO so much for reading, I hope you liked it —  
> if you ever wanna come yell at me about bridgerton or harry potter or criminal minds or one of my other 34 interests please comment or hmu on tumblr disgruntledchowchow :))
> 
> also lmk other ideas or things you’d like to see more of!


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